


Give it Up, Getting Out

by drevis



Series: Ain't Love a Kick in the Head? [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Slurs, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drevis/pseuds/drevis
Summary: Where had he been before he was a courier?
Series: Ain't Love a Kick in the Head? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942657
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Give it Up, Getting Out

**Author's Note:**

> gjdhdjdjd sorry for nothing super main story i'm nearly done with the next part i swear... hope you like scientist men and jealousy
> 
> (holds out my self-insert) he comes with lore  
> kisses
> 
> oh ps there is One slur it's the r word and i want you, the reader, to know that i, drevis, am autistic.

He wasn't quite used to the weight of his gun, nor the idea that he could so easily kill a man with just one movement of his index finger. This hesitation he experienced, bitter and hot in his throat, was only intensified by the dwindling amount of Jet in his system.

"You raiders truly are despicable," said the woman on the ground in front of him. 

She didn't seem to be addressing him, though, looking over his left shoulder. 

"This is just a kid! He can't be a day over sixteen! How could you recruit a  _ child? _ "

That was about him. Elsewhere knew he looked incredibly childlike, despite being halfway through his twentieth year. It was to be expected. He didn't expect to look like a teenager again, but it did make sense. He was going through pubertal changes, after all.

"Ain't that funny, Spence?" Elsewhere drawled. "She thinks I'm a kid. How goddamn retarded do ya gotta be to think  _ that _ ?"

"Nuttier'n brahmin shit, that's for damn sure," said Spencer. "I got all her caps and all the scrap we can carry. Why don't you do the honors and ice the broad?"

Elsewhere made a noise not dissimilar to the death cry of a mole rat. He hadn't done  _ this  _ part yet, he was more inclined to scour any place Spencer dragged him to for anything worth caps. Surely it couldn't be that hard; it would only be a quick pull of the trigger. His eyes darted around the room before finally settling on the poor victim in front of him. She was crying, unsurprisingly. Her whole body shook in fear of her imminent death. Nothing could stop him now, he half-thought as he pressed the muzzle of his pistol against her forehead.

"I have a family! Please," the woman choked on her own words. "Please, they can't find me like this!"

Elsewhere looked over to Spencer for approval. His jaw set firm when his partner nodded solemnly; barely registering himself pulling back the hammer. If this stuck with him, he could always take some more Jet, or Psycho, or whatever was strong enough to make him forget. Elsewhere closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was really it, the moment he would become truly respected by the rest of the group. His mouth twitched into a half-smile that could hopefully cover his anxiety, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing really prepares you for the feeling of taking an innocent life. To kill in self defence, you feel justified. Elsewhere knew this from experience. In the wasteland, it's generally kill or be killed; any hesitation in combat would be fatal. This, though… A mother quite similar to his own. The pain her child would go through would be unbearable.

"Good job, kid."

Elsewhere tore his eyes away from the mess of blood and brain matter on the floor, looking over at Spencer. His hands shook and a queasy feeling rose in his stomach.

"You're really one of us now. Let's get back home, share the news."

Elsewhere holstered his weapon. He thought back to his mother, thought of the look on her face when he first stumbled home after trying Jet, the way she cried and lamented the loss of her child. It was a different time for himself, he mused, running his hand over his freshly cut hair. He was younger then, maybe fifteen. Struggling with the identity his mother gave him, hating the long hair she plaited every morning. Taking chems was the only thing that made him forget, the one thing that got him numb enough to not  _ care  _ who his mother thought he was. She would be horrified if she knew what her child was doing, what he had gotten into.

"Gonna give me some scrap to carry, Spence?"

He kicked his rucksack over to the other man. A migraine was forming behind his right eye, his head already swimming with indecipherable thoughts. Was he going to live like this forever? An outcast relying on chems to numb the trauma he caused himself? How truly despicable.

He could change this. When they left, he could…

"You're spacing out again, kid."

Elsewhere shook his head, clearing the half-plan from his mind. Spencer tossed him his bag, which he slung over his shoulder. They walked out of the shack together, ignoring the scene they left inside. He estimated they were a good day's journey from home, so he could execute his plan while they camped out for the night. An absentminded hand reached up to scratch at his face and pick a scab on his chin.

Spencer wasn't one for conversation. He never had been, as long as Elsewhere had known him. He preferred silence, didn't even turn on his pocket radio. Elsewhere's fingers twitched. How easy it would be to do now, as he trudged behind Spencer, eyes glued to the back of his head. He felt his stomach churn with nerves as he inched the safety of his gun back. Was the click that quiet, or was the blood rushing through his ears really that loud?

What he did then simultaneously went by in an instant and a year. He watched himself pull the gun from its place at his hip, finger on the trigger as he silently held it up to the back of Spencer's head. He held his breath for a moment. Did he really want to do this? Sure, he wanted out, he wanted to get the help he needed, but could he find it? If he stayed, would he have to kill more innocents?

He breathed out slowly and fired.

Christ, he needed a hit.


End file.
